


Interchangeable

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of 5+1 Things [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Alternate Dimensions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universes, Angst, BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, CIA Derek Hale, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Falling In Love, Feral Derek Hale, Fluff, Humor, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Idiots in Love, M/M, Monster of the Week, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Reincarnation, Spies, Werewolf Mates, Witches, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: The one where Stiles gets sucked into five alternate universes and comes back realizing his feelings for Derek might not be as one-sided as he’d thought.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of 5+1 Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990429
Comments: 143
Kudos: 352
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	1. The One With the Spies

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't have any self control. But I thought of this last night and just couldn't not do it. So here we are! I hope you guys enjoy.

Stiles should’ve stayed on the sidelines.

He realized that a second after he’d rushed the witch they were fighting, hearing Derek shout his name, seeing a bright light flash before his eyes, and then finding himself tumbling through time and space like some sort of sci-fi movie.

Everything went black for a moment and then Stiles found himself in the middle of a battlefield. But not his battlefield; one with echoing gunshots and a sharp pain exploding through his arm. It took Stiles about three seconds to realize he’d been  _ shot. _

Blindly, he stumbled forward, the concrete feeling foreign beneath his feet. Bullets ricocheted off the walls and he stumbled toward the nearest stack of cargo boxes, throwing himself behind them. 

He could hear voices screaming through the air. Stiles huddled against the wall and tried to figure out just what had happened, a hand clasped firmly to the wound on his arm. It didn’t feel like the bullet had actually made impact; it’d only grazed his arm. But it still hurt like hell _. _

He’d been fighting the witch, Stiles remembered. He’d seen a flashing light. And then he’d been taken… taken here. 

Stiles’s head spun. 

Time travel? He wouldn’t be surprised, but that still wouldn’t explain the things around him. Getting sent somewhere else in the world? That was a lot more probable. Stiles realized he should be more worried about getting shot than wherever he was and dared a glance around the stacks of crates, yanking back when another bullet grazed his face.

_ Shit.  _ Where the hell was he?

Suddenly, there was a shout, and the gunshot cut off. Stiles froze as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and tensed up, preparing to run. But they paused just beyond his hiding spot and a familiar voice pierced the air.

“Come out, Stilinski, there’s nowhere to go!”

“Derek?” Stiles crept forward, peering around the crates. Sure enough, Derek stood just beyond, dressed in the strangest uniform of black and camouflage that Stiles had ever seen. And he had a gun. Leveled at Stiles’s face. Stiles yelped and flailed back, clapping a hand to his wounded arm again when pain exploded through it. “Derek, don’t shoot! It’s me!” 

Silence reigned for a moment. Then Derek came into view, the front of his gun still aimed at Stiles’ face. Stiles threw his hands up in defense, injured arm be damned.

“Derek, don’t!”

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing?” Derek hissed, his voice barely a whisper. Stiles blinked and lowered his arms, blinking at him in confusion. “Dammit, you aren’t supposed to be here!”

“Der— wait, what?”

But before Derek could say another word, Stiles heard another voice calling out in a language he didn’t recognize. Russian, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. Derek’s face twisted and he gave Stiles an apologetic look before lifting up the butt of his gun. Stiles didn’t even have a chance to shout before it connected with his temple and stars flashed before his eyes. 

Then everything went black.

\- - 

His head hurt. 

There were voices shouting things Stiles couldn’t make out and as he opened his eyes, he saw a dim, overhead swinging light. He was in a metal chair, he realized, with his hands cuffed behind his back. The room was he was in was too small for comfort and the only door was closed tight, a barred window near the top. Stiles groaned and tried to move, but couldn’t more than a few inches. He was completely immobile and his head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer it.

And his right arm stung. Someone had wrapped it in a thin bandage, he realized, but the outside already stained red. Stiles started as the door groaned open, and a man in a completely black uniform stepped through.

“Look, dude, I don’t—”

Stiles cut off as the man backhanded him, head snapping sideways. His captor barked something in Russian and hit him again, then time on the other side of the face. Stiles saw stars.

“Please—”

He was hit again. This time, his mouth filled with blood.

“Hey!” 

The door burst open again and Stiles nearly sobbed when he saw Derek, still in his camouflage uniform. Derek caught the man’s hand before he could swing again and twisted it hard, causing a crack that made the man scream. Stiles couldn’t cover up a flinch. 

“Stilinski is my interrogation,” Derek snarled, twisting the man’s hand even further back. The guy cried out something in Russian and Derek let go, his shoulders tensing stiffly as the man ran from the room. The door slammed shut and they were left alone in the silence.

“Derek, I—”

“Quiet,” Derek hissed, still looking at the door. He waited for a long moment before his shoulders slumped and he rounded on Stiles, leaning forward and grabbing the arms of his chair. “What the hell were you thinking? You could’ve been killed out there! I told you there’d be an ambush, Stiles, why the hell didn’t you move locations?”

Stiles blinked in confusion, his mind spinning. Derek... Derek wasn’t his Derek, he was coming to realize. Yeah, the man sounded like him and snarled like him, but his beard was a bit scruffier, his shoulders were a bit wider, and he didn’t look nearly as distasteful as his Derek usually did when talking to him. Rather, his eyes were soft and scared and a calloused hand ran down Stiles’s arm, making him shiver. This Derek shook his head.

“I don’t know if I can get us out of this, Stiles. My cover will be blown for sure and HQ will have a fit.”

“HQ?” Stiles asked weakly. Derek blinked in confusion and he barreled quickly on, the words not coming out fast enough. “Look, Derek, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’m not Stiles. Or, not your Stiles. The Stiles you know. Whatever. There was a fight and a witch and somehow I—”

“A witch?” Derek said, drawing back. Stiles blinked.

“Yeah, a witch. You know, angry, supernatural, and not unlike your werewolf self, except a little more wrinkly and a little less,” he blushed, “muscular and all that.”

“Werewolf,” Derek repeated, now looking totally confused. “Stiles, are you…?”

“I’m not your Stiles.”

Derek stared at him, a critical eyes going over his clothes and short brown hair, before resting on his face once more. Stiles waited for him to scent him out or take away some of his pain or something, but his stomach sunk as the man continued to stare like he’d had just grown horns. Then the realization hit Stiles like a ton of bricks.

“You’re not a werewolf, are you?”

“We’re CIA, Stiles. Going on eight years now.”

CIA. Stiles bit back a groan. “Dammit.”

“I thought the clothes were a disguise,” Derek said. “But you’re younger. More spastic.” He ignored Stiles’ protesting squawk. “You’re really not my Stiles, are you?”

“No,” Stiles laughed faintly. “No, I’m really not.”

“Then where is my Stiles?”

“Um... waiting for me to get back to my universe?”

Because alternate universes, that had to be a thing. And it’d just be Stiles’s luck to get sent somewhere where everyone is literally trying to kill him. Or interrogate him, it’d seem, and though this wasn’t Stiles’s first rodeo, he’d rather not lose all his fingernails. So how did a person get from one universe to the other?

Possibly by finding the witch that’d sent him here in the first place. But if Derek was human, Stiles really didn’t see that happening.

“Wait,” Stiles said, looking back at the dark-haired man. Derek looked downright gutted, and not just because he’d suddenly found out alternative universes were real. “You called him ‘your Stiles’. Like not just ‘your Stiles’ your Stiles, but  _ your Stiles.” _

Derek blinked at him, the familiar expression of exasperation coming over his face that Stiles knew so well. But at the same time, it was tinted with something else. Something warmer. Stiles’s jaw dropped as it hit him.

“You  _ like  _ him!”

“Of course I like him,” Derek said, as if that was the most obvious thing on the planet. “He’s my partner and fiancé.”

Stiles squawked again. “You  _ love  _ him?!”

“He’s my fiancé,” Derek repeated, squinting slightly. “What, does your Derek not love you?”

“My Derek barely likes me,” Stiles said, staring in disbelief. Yeah, sure, he’d had been harboring a secret crush on Derek since high school, but Stiles was certain he only saw him as Scott’s sidekick, even after everything they’d been through. The idea that an alternate universe Derek might actually  _ love _ him was something Stiles couldn’t wrap his head around.

Suddenly, there was a banging on the metal door and Stiles jumped as a shout in Russian came through the barred window. Derek’s expression did an array of things but mostly he looked sick, and Stiles felt his stomach sinking at that. Would this Derek have any qualms with hurting him? He wasn’t the one Derek loved, after all.

“What do they want?” Stiles asked quietly. Derek swallowed hard.

“They want me to interrogate you for information regarding your— our— unit. They say we’ve talked enough.”

“And I’m guessing telling them I’m a doppelganger from another universe won’t change things,” Stiles said, pulling at his cuffed hands half-heartedly. Derek chuckled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Stiles swallowed hard. “You can do what you have to.”

“I’m not hurting you,” Derek said, his eyes widening. Stiles looked at him in confusion. 

“But I’m not your Stiles. And maybe…” He felt a little sick thinking about it. “Maybe if you kill me, your Stiles will come back and you two can figure a way out of this together.”

“I’m not  _ hurting _ you,” Derek repeated, more resolutely this time. Stiles didn’t understand it.

“Well,” Stiles said, “I don’t have any information you can give to your Russian friends out there. And if you don’t start breaking out the torture, I’m pretty sure I won’t live long enough for that to matter.”

Derek groaned and then punched Stiles in the stomach, so hard the air snapped from his lungs and he doubled over, coughing raspily into his chest. Derek was leaning forward the moment he could lift his head again, hands on the arms of his chair like he was threatening, but in reality, his soft breaths were warm on Stiles’s skin. 

“Sorry,” Derek said, sounding truly apologetic. “My Stiles could usually take a blow like that.”

“Well your Stiles is clearly more of a badass than I am.”

Derek chuckled quietly at that, though his eyes never left Stiles’. There was such emotion in them, such  _ adoration  _ in them, that Stiles’s heart ached. He’d always imagined his Derek looking at him like that, or at least looking at him with a little less irritation and more fondness than usual. Sure, Stiles knew they were friends. They’d saved each other’s lives enough time to be more than acquaintances, and they definitely weren’t enemies, despite the number of times Derek slammed him up against a wall. 

“So, do you have a plan of escape then?” Stiles asked hopefully. “Because I’m very conveniently cuffed to a chair and am not looking forward to you punching me again.”

“There is a way out of the cuffs,” Derek said. Stiles perked up.

“Do you have a key?”

“You’ll need to dislocate your thumb.”

“Oh, hell no,” Stiles squawked, shying back. “I’m not dislocating anything, dude. I’m not some big bad super-spy, like you, I don’t do things like _dislocating my thumb.”_

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek groused. “It’s easy. Just grab it tightly and jerk to the side—”

“No!” Stiles cried, closing his eyes as if that would somehow make the mental image disappear. Shit, he could barely handle needles, there was no way he could rip his own finger out of place. He’d die here if he had to.

“Stiles,” Derek said, a warning note taking to his voice. That was more like the Derek he knew. “You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything, big guy, especially not hurt myself. I fainted the last time Scott got a tattoo, you know, and… And….” Stiles trailed off, slumping into himself. “I just can’t.”

Derek leaned closer, tracing his fingers down Stiles’s arms. It was a delicate, comforting touch, that made goosebumps erupt over his skin. Derek’s hands rested on his cuffed hands and enveloped them gently. “Okay, it’s okay, Stiles. You don’t have to do anything.”

Stiles gave a small smile, but then felt Derek’s grip tighten. The man’s eyes flickered apologetically.

“I can do it myself.”

Stiles shouted out as Derek popped his left thumb out of place, pain spiking up his arm. He supposed at least the Russian’s would assume he was being tortured, because good hell, that  _ hurt.  _ And Stiles was very vocal about how much. 

“Sorry,” Derek said. He tugged Stiles’s left wrist until it came out of the cuff and Stiles yelped again, the pain burning even worse. “But we need to get out of here.”

The cuffs dangled from Stiles’s wrist uselessly and he shot Derek a venomous look, wanting to punch him in the face in retaliation. But that wouldn’t do anything, and the moment he stood up, alarmed voices came from the other side of the door. Derek swung around as a soldier with a gun shoved in and moved with super-spy speed, punching him out and wrestling the gun from his hands. Alarms cut through the air as a single shot had the man dropping to the ground.

“Come on,” Derek said, starting forward. “We need to go.”

Stiles raced behind him, feeling very vulnerable in the expansion of what seemed to be an underground bunker. The overhead lights were dim and flashed red, and he could hear distant voices, followed by racing footsteps. He wished for his own gun— he could shoot, his dad had made sure of that after the werewolf reveal. But for now, all Stiles could do was follow Derek and hope one gun would be enough

Derek rounded the corner, only to duck back as a series of gunshots rang off the walls. He grabbed Stiles by the collar and hauled him back down the hall, pulling them both into an abandoned room as shouts echoed from the other side too.

Stiles realized then, that he was a liability. Derek could get out by himself, he had few doubts, and would probably do even better if he had  _ his  _ Stiles to help, but current-Stiles wasn’t a super-spy. He was the token human. The boy with a baseball bat.

He was useless here. 

And that realization hit Stiles hard in the empty room, watching Derek take deep breaths as he faced the closed door, gun raised. They were both going to die here, Stiles realized, unless something changed.

His existence had to change. His existence here _. _

Stiles started toward the door and Derek caught his arm, green eyes wide. Stiles forced the best smile he could and went on his tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to the man’s cheek. It wasn’t much, but it was something he’d always wanted to do.

He didn’t think he’d ever have the chance again.

“I know you’re not my Derek,” Stiles said. “But I never had the chance to say this to him. So I love you. I always have, I probably always will, and I’m sorry. But you deserve your Stiles back and you deserve to live.”

Derek’s eyes widened but before he could say a word, Stiles ripped away, shoving out of the door. He froze, coming face-to-face with an armed soldier and then a gunshot rang off the walls.

Stiles felt it hit his chest. Felt the impact, the pain, and the coldness of the ground as he collapsed. The last words he said to Derek’s spun over and over again in his mind.

_ I love you. _

And the world shifted to black.


	2. The One With the Zombies

Stiles woke up again to his name in the wind.

 _I’m not dead,_ was the first thing that went through his mind and he sat up so fast, his forehead connected with the guy’s leaning over him, causing him to curse and reel back, and pain to explode through Stiles’ own head. As if he already hadn’t had enough.

“Stiles!” The guy cried out in pain. “What the hell?”

For a moment, Stiles was hopeful enough to think he’d come back to his universe. But then, as he spotted the guy clutching his own forehead, all those hopes were dashed.

Scott didn’t look anything like he normally did. His hair was floppy again and his face was covered in dirt. There was even the faint start of stubble forming on his chin and Stiles knew it took Scott at _least_ two weeks to get even the faintest form of an afternoon shadow.

Stiles deflated, lowering his head back to the ground. Which, he noticed, was hard. In fact, he was lying on the tightly-packed earth, under what seemed to be a tent with a dozen holes in the sides. Stiles closed his eyes and groaned.

“Stiles?” Scott sounded worried. “Are you okay?”

“Where am I now?”

“Um… back at camp,” Scott said, poking him experimentally in the face. Stiles batted his hand away and forced himself to sit up.

“No, I mean where _am I._ What universe?”

Scott looked beyond confused now. Stiles resisted the urge to groan again as he realized once more, he’d have to explain the idea of alternate worlds. And to Scott McCall of all people.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not from this universe. Yes, that’s crazy, and no, I’m not sure if you have witches or werewolves here, but it’s all true. And I don’t know how to get back to my own universe. But as long as you’re not trying to torture or kill me, we might get just along fine.”

“Um,” Scott blinked a few times. “There’s no witches or werewolves here. We do have zombies though.”

_Zombies._

Oh god. Of course, Stiles thought, it was zombies. Just leave it to him to go from a spies-and-Russians senario to one concerning the zombie apocalypse. He was actually starting to miss Beacon Hills and that was saying something.

“Do you believe me, then?” Stiles asked. “About alternate universes?”

“I mean, you did faint out of nowhere and are missing a beard and six-pack,” Scott said. Stiles started, flailing around a few times.

“Wait, zombie-apocalypse me has a six-pack and a beard?” 

“Yeah,” Scott said. “And a scar across his left eye, not to mention you look ten years younger.”

Stiles shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around all of that. In one universe, he’d been an epic super-spy, and in another, he was a badass zombie apocalypse survivor. How the hell was real him so lame?

“I don’t think you’re lame,” Scott said, and Stiles realized he’d been speaking out loud. Scott seemed undeterred by that, though. “I mean, if there were werewolves and witches in this universe, I’m pretty sure it’d be a lot worse. Could you imagine being hunted by something that grows fangs, claws, and hair every full moon?”

Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him that _he_ was something that grew fangs, claws, and hair every full moon. Even though it’d probably be hilarious.

Instead, Stiles sat up with a groan. All his previous wounds were gone, surprisingly, though Stiles wasn’t complaining at the lack of a gunshot wound to the heart, arm, and a dislocated thumb. Not to mention the wounds he’d received from being beaten by Derek and the Russian dude.

“You were beaten by Derek?” Scott asked, sounding horrified. Stiles groaned inwardly as he realized he was thinking out loud again.

“Not in the way you think,” he said, pushing himself up. The world swayed a little before steadying again. “It’s a seriously long story.”

“Well, I should hope. Derek’s the reason we’ve been trying to wake you up for the past hour, after all.”

Stiles blinked. “What’s that mean?”

“He kind of saved you from being torn apart by zombies,” Scott said sheepishly. “But he’s trapped in a zombie-ridden warehouse in the city because of that.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles resisted the urge to facepalm. It figured that Derek here would nearly die to save his life, as that always seemed to be the way things went between them. “Of course he did. Let me guess, we have to go save his furry ass?”

“Furry?” Scott asked, confused. Stiles waved him off.

“It’s a werewolf thing.” He ducked out of the tent and froze at seeing another couple dozen spreading out beyond him. They were in a camp of some kind, which made sense for the zombie apocalypse. Stiles had seen enough ‘Walking Dead’ to know it was best to stick in groups when zombies were involved.

“There was a group sent out earlier,” Scott said, “but they haven’t radioed back in yet. Isaac, Boyd, and Erica— Wait, do you know them too?”

“Yeah,” Stiles groused, remembering the last night when Erica attempted to claw his face off for beating her at Mario Kart. “Sadly, I know them all.”

Scott didn’t question his tone, though he shot him a curious look. It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t like Derek’s betas, it was that they were always so… violent. Or clingy. There was no in-between and it got under his skin sometimes, especially when he’d come home ready for a well-earned jerkoff or nap session (or both) only to find one of them passed out in his bed.

“Stiles!”

Stiles blinked as Lydia came out of one of the tents, rushing toward them until she came to a sudden stop. She didn’t look like he remembered, with longer red hair and wearing clothes that his Lydia would never even glance at. But she also looked… more badass. A couple knives were belted to her thighs and a rifle was slung across her shoulders. Stiles might have fallen in love all over again if he wasn’t hung up on somebody else.

“You’re not Stiles,” Lydia said, and Stiles could have done somersaults for how perceptive she was, even in another reality.

“No,” Scott said helpfully, stepping forward. “He’s from an alternate universe where Derek beats him up and Russian men want to rip off his fingernails.”

Stiles winced at that, cursing himself for ever letting those words leave his mouth. Lydia looked horrified.

“It’s not like that,” Stiles said quickly. “In fact, it’s a lot more confusing. And I’d totally explain but I need to find a way back to my own universe so you’re Stiles can come back to this one, and everybody can be happy.”

“Why would you go back to a world where Russian men want to rip out your fingernails?” Scott asked, looking confused. Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Thankfully, though, Lydia seemed to get it. Or at least, get it as much as she possibly could, considering the circumstances.

“But I think Scott’s going to have me help save Derek,” Stiles said, glancing over at his friend. “It’s the least I can do, considering your Stiles would probably do the same.”

“Of course, he would,” Lydia said, shaking her head. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the unsaid message behind her words, but didn’t press it. After all, other Stiles’s business wasn’t really his own, was it?

Thankfully, he didn’t see anyone else he knew, though when he mentioned his dad, Scott gave him a sad look. Stiles didn’t need to chase that lead down, figuring with a sinking heart that he already knew what happened to his dad. And that this wasn’t a world he could live in.

Dying had gotten him out of the last universe. The moment Stiles had seen black, he’d woken up in the tent here. That didn’t mean he looked forward to death-by-zombies, but Stiles didn’t fear the possibility as much as he probably should. Not if it got him back to a zombie-less Beacon Hills.

Though then again, he’d seen enough ‘Walking Dead’ to know he didn’t want to become zombie chow just for fun. Plus, Stiles didn’t even know if death was the trick in every universe. It was better to wait and see how things went, he decided.

Right now it was mission ‘ _Save Derek’._ So nothing new, really.

The zombie apocalypse was exactly as bad as Stiles had expected. They drove into the city which was in shambles, and had to shoot a few passing zombies in the head. The Walking Dead was scarily similar to how things were run here, and Stiles almost expected to see Daryl or Rick come leaping out of the underbrush at any moment.

So maybe he watched too much TV.

They had to park outside the city, so the sounds of the truck wouldn’t draw any undead attention. Stiles accepted a gun and baseball bat from Scott, still taken aback by seeing his best friend carrying a firearm of his own. It didn’t seem to belong in Scott’s hands. The guy was too much puppy and too little serial killer to be carrying a gun.

“So, where’s this warehouse?” Stiles asked as they followed the quiet street. He knew there were a few walkers behind them, but they were moving far too slow to keep up. Still, his nerves were doing crazy things and he didn’t like the idea that a single bite could have him turning into one of those brainless creeps.

“North,” the guy leading their group said. 

Stiles cast Scott a sideways look, who shrugged. He tried not to feel even more uncomfortable. It was one wrong move that led to a gruesome death in movies like this. 

They got near the warehouse without any trouble, but couldn’t get within five hundred feet of the actual thing. Zombies surrounded the building in droves, pounding on the door and ramming themselves against the walls, and Stiles had no doubts Derek was really trapped in there. The idiot had probably drawn them all to his location in order for other-Stiles to escape alive.

_Idiot._

“How are we supposed to get in?” Stiles hissed. The guy leading their group, who Scott called Allen, didn’t answer, studying the mass of zombies for a long moment. Scott shot him a worried look, and then Allen grunted, turning away.

“He’s a lost cause. We’re never getting in there.”

Stiles blinked.

The others all started away too, as if this was normal, but Stiles remained rooted in place. He couldn’t believe— he couldn’t _believe_ — this was an actual world. What happened to the heroic rescues? The unexpected escapes? How could this group of survivors leave Derek, _Derek,_ behind? 

Yeah, Stiles figured, the guy was probably as grumpy here as he was back in Beacon Hills, but he was also _Derek Hale_. Muscular, terrifying, and all-and-all, a supreme badass. Even Scott started after the group, but not before giving Stiles a long, mourning look. Like Stiles was losing the most precious thing in the world.

This might not be his world, but maybe he was.

“Hold up!” Stiles called, causing Allen to turn. He looked between the man and the warehouse, before fixing him with an incredulous gaze. “You can’t seriously be leaving Derek to die there because it might be a little difficult getting in.”

“A little difficult?” Allen said, his voice mocking. “That’s a couple hundred zombies, boy. He’ll be lucky if those walls stay upright past nightfall.”

“Stiles,” Scott said gently. “We’ve all seen it before. Sometimes, certain cases are a lost cause.”

Stiles couldn’t believe it. In his universe, Scott would have gone after Derek, a couple hundred zombies be damned. Sure, he probably would have complained about it the whole time, and acted like he didn’t care afterwards, but he would’ve done what he could. 

This alternate reality sucked.

Turning on his heel, Stiles started toward the zombie horde. He didn’t know what he was doing and the rescue group shouted at his back, but he ignored them. Zombies turned toward him hungrily as he approached. Stiles waved his bat through the air and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“You want a piece of this? Huh? Then come and get me, you braindead asshats!”

Stiles decided he was an idiot. But he’d also decided that a long time ago, so it was nothing new as he turned on his heel and ran. He led them toward the rescue group, figuring they could make their own escapes, uncaring really for those who’d abandon Derek. Except for Scott, of course. But nothing could ever kill Scott, he’d seen that enough times firsthand. 

Sure, the other-Stiles might pay for his lunacy when he came back. But that was an other-Stiles problem. 

The zombie horde came after them with a echoe of groans and shuffling feet, and Stiles broke away as the last second, circling back around. He swung at the closest zombie that cut off from the group, his bat connecting against its skull with a sickening _crunch._

Stiles fought his way to the warehouse door and threw his shoulder against it, stumbling inside. The lower floor was dark and— and empty— not a single soul in sight. Stiles started forward, a roll of groaning snarls at his back, and searched the darkness.

“Derek?” His voice echoed off the walls. “Derek!”

There was a groan from right behind him. Stiles swung around and his bat connected with the zombie’s side. Another swing had its head denting in sideways and Stiles knew that image would haunt him for years, swinging one more time to end the thing altogether. Maybe, once he got home, he would invest in some spikes in his baseball bat. Just in case.

There was a set of stairs that led upward and Stiles raced toward them, taking them two by two. He came onto the roof, blinking against the sudden flood of light again. And his heart stopped when he saw the figure crumpled on the opposite side of the roof.

“Derek? Derek!”

Stiles raced over, falling to his knees at Derek’s limp side. For a moment, he was terrified he’d find a bite, a half-feral Derek, or he’d already be dead. But relief crashed over him when Derek made a faint groaning noise and turned to face him. There were a couple gashes across his chest and he was pale, but Derek was alive. _Derek was alive._

Stiles laughed in relief, shaking his head. “You goddam idiot, you can’t even stay safe in an entirely different world. Other-Stiles must have a heart attack every other day—”

Stiles cut off as Derek pressed his lips against his, a hand wrapping around the back of his head to keep him from jerking back. Derek muttered the word _“Stiles”_ around his lips and kissed him harder, teeth nipping at his lower lip. Stiles’ eyes closed on their own accord and he kissed the man back, finding it felt like everything Stiles had ever imagined— before remembering himself. With a gasp, Stiles jerked back, guilt clutching at his heart.

“I’m not— this isn’t—”

“Love you,” Derek whispered, slumping back down again. The words were whispered simply, promisingly, and then the world was fading around them. Stiles didn’t even have the chance to grab at Derek’s hands before he was falling straight through the floor, the world around him plunging to black again.

He faintly realized this Derek somehow loved him too.

And then everything was void.


	3. The One With the Wolf (Pt1)

The third time Stiles woke up, he was back in Beacon Hills. 

Relief crashed over him as he recognized the Beacon Hills cemetery in all its glory. For a moment, Stiles was so lost in his own head, he almost forgot he had no idea how he’d gotten here or where the others were. Some of his relief faded and he turned in a complete circle, searching the darkness.

“Uh, hello?” Stiles called, his voice echoing through the empty air. “Scott? Derek? Derek’s pups? Is anyone out there?”

Silence was his only answer. 

Groaning, Stiles turned in the direction of town. This was Beacon Hills at least, he supposed. He could finally go home; or back to the loft. Maybe the witch had just dropped him off away from the battle and the others were freaking out in their search for him or something. Derek was probably going to be pissed. Scott was probably panicking.

Stiles tried not to think about how much— and how little— he wanted to see Derek right now. Would the man somehow know all the things Stiles had experienced? And if he did, would he be disgusted?

Stiles didn’t make it ten feet before he was tackled to the ground.

He yelped in surprise and a hand flipped him over. Stiles kicked out, blindly fighting, only to freeze as five sharp claws pressed against the tender flesh of his neck. Golden eyes gleamed in the darkness above him and Stiles blinked. 

“... Isaac?”

His heart stopped pounding as he recognized the beta. Isaac wasn’t the first person he’d been expecting to run into, but it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been the witch. Or Jackson.

“Oh my god, Isaac, I’ve never been so happy to see one of Derek’s pups before,” Stiles said, nudging the beta off his chest and pushing himself up. Isaac stumbled back in bewilderment. “I swear to god, dude, I’ve got some crazy stories for you guys. I mean, I know it looked like the witch made me go ‘blip’ or whatever, but I actually got sent to some freaking crazy alternate universes and… Isaac?”

Stiles trailed off as the curly-haired beta flinched away. Isaac’s face had morphed into fangs and claws again as Stiles stepped forward, so he quickly stepped back. Stiles felt his heart sink.

“Oh my god, I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

“You’re dead,” Isaac whispered. He looked at Stiles like he was seeing a ghost. Which Stiles supposed, in this case, he was _.  _ But that didn’t make sense.

“The witch didn’t kill me,” Stiles said. “She only made me go somewhere else. Somewhere with spies and zombies and yes, I know how that sounds, but it’s all true. Then I got sent back here.”

“But you’re dead,” Isaac said again. “You’ve been dead for three years.”

Stiles froze. No, that couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t have been gone for three years. He’d only been in the other realities for a day at most. Unless... did time pass differently in alternate universes? Did he— oh, god— his dad. His life. 

“I’m not dead,” Stiles said shakily. “The witch just set me somewhere else.”

“Stiles, there was no  _ witch,”  _ Isaac said, a snarl to his voice. “You’re dead. We buried your body.”

And Stiles realized exactly what he was missing then. It struck him like a blow to the chest and he reeled back, gazing down at the grave he’d woken up on. The words engraved into the headstone read;  **_‘Stiles Stilinski, beloved son and friend. April 8, 1994 - October 14, 2011.’_ **

Stiles was dead. He was dead.

“I died,” Stiles said, staring at the headstone. Then, he groaned. “Oh my god, I died. Of course that happened, that’s just my luck. I go from being an epic super-spy, to a zombie apocalypse survivor, to a freaking dead man. I’m pretty sure that damn witch is laughing her head off right now. If Derek hasn’t ripped her throat out yet, that is.”

Isaac looked at him like he was crazy. Stiles was starting to feel like he was. 

“Look,” he said. “I’m not the Stiles you guys knew. I’m from a different reality where a freaking witch sent me across a span of alternate universes and for some reason, I can’t figure out a way to get back. So don’t murder me again. Please? **”**

“An alternate universe?”

“I mean, we deal with the supernatural, so is that really so hard to believe?”

Isaac looked at him with a vulnerable expression on his face. But then something behind his eyes changed and Stiles didn’t know how to react when the beta suddenly moved forward, engulfing him in a hug. He stiffened and Isaac buried his face in his neck, breathing him in. The beta whined at the back of his throat. “You smell like him.”

“Him?”

“Stiles.”

It felt so weird to hear his name but know that it didn’t belong to him. Not exactly, at least. Stiles just nodded into Isaac’s curly hair and the beta made another whining noise, pulling back again. He searched Stiles up and down one more time and then his face paled.

“Oh my god. Derek.”

That made Stiles tense. “Derek? What about Derek?”

“He…” The beta trailed off. Stiles studied his face but Isaac shied away, not saying another word. Stiles decided to take it one step at a time. He offered his best smile and laid a hand on the beta’s shoulder.

“Isaac, can you take me back to the loft?”

Isaac looked at him with wide eyes. Slowly, he shook his head. “Derek sold the loft when you died.”

Stiles’s stomach clenched. He swallowed hard. “Where is the pack now?”

“The Hale house.”

“The Hale house? It’s rebuilt?”

“Right up from the ground,” Isaac said, looking small. A lump formed in Stiles’s throat. 

“Oh.”

Isaac ducked his head for a moment and then glanced up, eyes glowing gold again. Before Stiles could react, the beta was pulling himself close one more time and burying his face in his neck again. Stiles tensed, surprised, and then relaxed. Isaac snuffled against his skin.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah, dude,” Stiles said, because normally he and Isaac weren’t on this level yet. “It’s uh, good to see you too.”

Quietly, he reminded himself to give Isaac a hug or two when he got back because clearly the beta needed them.  _ If  _ he got back, that was. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Isaac, can you take me to the Hale house?”

The beta slowly pulled back and nodded. And Stiles really hoped that there, he could figure thigns out.

Before he was sent somewhere else again.

* * *

To say he didn’t know what to expect would be a lie. Stiles thought that learning about multiple universes would be a trip, but learning about his own death was something in itself. Especially because Isaac kept looking at him like he was seeing a ghost; which really wasn’t a fair comparison.

But he didn’t know what to expect regarding the rest of the pack’s reactions. He also didn't know what to expect about the Hale house.

Because the Hale house… wasn’t the Hale house. Not exactly, at least.

It was twice the size and repainted. There was a garden outside and a leveled out area with archery targets and weapon stands. It looked like a home, not the falling apart house that Stiles remembered, and that unsettled in him in a way he couldn’t put into words.

It looked nice. It looked  _ safe. _

There was a man sitting on the porch with his arms wrapped around a brown-haired woman. The closer they got, the more Stiles could’ve sworn he recognized him, and then blazing blue eyes snapped up and it hit Stiles like a punch to the gut.

He thought he’d seen everything when he woke up to a Scott with a beard. But this man; this man looked different. Stubbled, still older, but it was his Scotty all the same. 

His Scotty and Allison with much, much longer hair. Stiles blinked sideways at Isaac.

He supposed, if he concentrated on it, Isaac looked a little older too. The softness of his cheeks was gone, but he looked happier than Stiles remembered. And a lot less tired.

Scott was on his feet in a second, Allison at his side. Stiles chuckled nervously and ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey, Scotty.”

Scott blinked at him. Then he was moving forward and embracing Stiles tight, and Stiles knew this was his best friend. Because only Scott would hug a literal dead man before asking questions.

Allison looked a lot warier. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if she was thumbing one of the daggers in her sleeve.

And that was the last thing he wanted.

“Look,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I really don’t want to get knifed today. Yes, I’ve been told I’m supposed to be dead. Yes, I’m sure this is the last thing you expected to hear. But uh… a witch did me dirty. And now I’m traveling to different universes where current me has messed everything up? Or maybe I’m the one messing things up. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Scott looked at him in shock. Blue flickered into his eyes and once more, Stiles’s breaths stole from his throat.

“Dude,” he said carefully. “Your eyes.”

Scott flinched and blinked a few times, the color fading away. When he looked back at Stiles, they were normal brown again. He looked sad though. 

“I, uh... killed the man that murdered you,” Scott said quietly. Stiles’s heart nearly stopped. Allison put a comforting hand on Scott’s arm and then gave Stiles a level look. 

“Can you prove it?”

“Prove... what?”

“That you are Stiles,” she said. “That you’re not some supernatural creature come to manipulate and hurt us. Can you prove that you’re Stiles?’

“Uh,” Stiles said, blinking a few times. That shouldn’t be too hard, right? He was himself. He knew things that they probably didn’t, but their Stiles probably had. “Uh, I would live off of curly fries if I could. I’m pretty handy with a baseball bat when it comes down to things, even if that doesn’t get even close to having fangs and claws. Oh! And there was this one time in seventh grade where I was dared to sneak into the girl’s locker room and my dad grounded me for six months afterward.”

Scott blinked at him. Then a grin cracked across his face and he pulled Stiles into a hug again, fingers ghosting over the back of his neck. Stiles grinned a little himself, sighing in relief. 

“Glad to see the Stiles here was been just as idiotic.”

Allison’s face softened. When Scott pulled back, she moved forward too and pulled him into a hug as well, although hers was much more gentle. “It’s good to have you back, Stiles.”

Stiles’s stomach tightened. He just smiled.

“So how did you get here?” Allison asked. “And how do you get you back?”

“You know, that’s a really good question.”

The woman crooked up a brow. Stiles blushed and decided he really didn’t want to go into detail how he’d gotten to separate universes before; because that was probably just a coincidence. It wasn’t like it was a thing, right? It wasn’t.

“Could I talk to Deaton?” Stiles asked. “Hell, I’d even settle for Peter. That creeper knows way more than is fair.”

Scott and Allison exchanged looks. “Deaton isn’t… around anymore. And Peter’s been dead since Derek killed him sophomore year.”

Stiles blinked. “What?”

“Is he alive where you’re from?”

“Uh… Lydia brought him back to life. On accident. Or something. Dude, what the hell is this timeline? Is Lydia still a banshee? Did Jackson ever become the kanima?”

“Kanima?”

“After Derek gave him the bite?”

“Wait, Derek gave Jackson the bite?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, blinking a few times. Clearly, this place was much different than where he was from. And not half bad either, if Stiles was being honest. No kanima, no Peter, none of that mess.

But none him either, clearly.

“Okay,” he said. “Can I talk to Derek then? Is he still the Alpha?”

Scott shuffled his feet and avoided his gaze. But Allison just looked sad. Stiles felt a knot form in his throat and he swallowed hard.

“Is Derek dead too?”

“What? No.”

“Then can I talk to him?”

Scott winced. “You could try, but I don’t think it would do much good.”

“Okay, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Next to him, Isaac made a soft whining noise. Stiles looked over in confusion and the beta glanced toward the door before ducking his head again. Stiles fixed Scott with a flat look.

“I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

“I think it’d be easier to show you.”

“He’s not like… gonna try to kill or anything is he? Oh my god, does this Derek hate me as much as my Derek does? Does he want to rip out my throat too? Because that’s totally not cool.”

Scott gave him a strange look. Stiles shuffled his feet and shrugged.

“We have a strained relationship at times."

Scott glanced over at Allison and even she looked… unsettled. Or something. Stiles swallowed nervously and Scott offered his best smile, taking Stiles by the shoulder and leading him toward the door. Stiles couldn’t help glancing around as they stepped foot into the Hale house.

It was a lot like he remembered it if everything had been put back into place and given a fresh coat of paint. The colors were bright and there was smooth hardwood underneath his shoes. Stiles thought this was one of the strangest things he’d ever seen. It looked like a home.

And he’d just seen zombies.

“So,” he said, glancing over at Scott. “Derek isn't like, crazy, is he? He's not Peter psycho, right? Cause you guys are starting to freak me out.”

Scott didn’t answer, just gave him a small side look. Stiles decided that was not comforting at all.

Scott led him down the stairs into a basement and Stiles started to wonder if he  _ was  _ going to die here. What if he’d been tricked? What if the pack in this universe was really a bunch of sociopaths instead of nice friendly supernaturals? What if—

“Oh my god!”

Stiles stumbled back as he spotted the giant black wolf curled up in the nearest corner. Scott shot him a look and the wolf’s eyes snapped open in a second. Eyes— red eyes— bright red eyes with an intelligence behind them that Stiles could’ve sworn he recognized.

His mouth went dry and he swallowed hard. “Oh my god.”

The wolf rose to its feet with a low growl. Stiles’s heart thudded against his chest and Scott stepped in front of him, raising his hands. The wolf’s growls got lower. More bloodthirsty, if Stiles had to say.

“Derek,” Scott said carefully. “Derek, don’t do anything.”

_ “That's Derek?” _

The wolf snarled and snapped its jaw. Before either of them could react, it was darting around Scott and driving Stiles to the floor. He hit the cement hard and the air snapped from his lungs, his head cracking off the floor. Stiles gasped in pain, seeing stars, and then froze as sharp teeth leveled above his throat.

“Sourwolf, no! Please don’t eat me!”

The wolf went shock-still. Claws tipped into his shirt and Stiles was pretty sure he'd  nearly wet himself. Scott had gone suddenly still off to the side and Stiles really wished his supposed best friend would hurry up and come save him. 

“Uh, Scotty? A little help here please?”

“Stiles, I don’t think he—”

The wolf growled lowly again. He turned his head to the side and gave Scott a red-eyed look and then, to Stiles’s surprise, Scott straightened. The man looked from Derek to Stiles, and then back before moving a step away. Toward the stairs. Toward safety.

Without Stiles.

“Dude!” Stiles yelped. “Dude, Scott, don’t leave me! What the hell are you doing?”

“Derek’s not going to hurt you,” Scott said, still retreating. “Don’t worry, he won’t do anything bad.”

“Scott! Scott, get back here or I swear to god I’m going to take a handful of wolfsbane ash and shove it down your throat!”

Derek snarled again. Stiles froze and looked back at him in terror and by the time his eyes flitted to the stairs again, Scott was gone. Scott was gone, leaving him alone to die.

Stiles had never felt more betrayed. Even if this wasn’t exactly technically his best friend.

“Okay,” he said nervously, turning back to face Derek. Or, wolf-Derek. Werewolf Derek? Full shift Derek. Stiles didn’t know. And he didn’t think he’d live long enough to figure it out. “Please don’t kill me, dude. I don’t know yet if that’s the trigger to send me to another universe and I’d really rather not die. I still have to get through high school! And nobody will make sure my dad eats healthy if I die.”

To his surprise, wolf-Derek didn’t rip out his throat. Instead, he stepped back and Stiles could breathe right again with the pressure off of his chest. He laid there for a long, terrified minute before slowly pushing himself up and eyeing the wolf. Derek. Whatever.

Derek sat very obviously between Stiles and his escape up the stairs. For a moment, they just blinked at each other.

Then Stiles rubbed the back of his head and grimaced. “Dude, I’m going to bruise so bad.”

Derek whined. Stiles froze and dropped his hand, blinking at him.

“Wait, do you actually know what I’m saying?”

Stiles could’ve sworn red eyes turned redder. He squeaked and threw his hands up, retreating a few inches backward. But before he could even attempt to offer his apologies, Derek was stalking forward. Stiles failed backward and tried to scramble away, but he only made it a few feet before his back rammed against the basement wall.

And then Derek’s nose was pressed against the soft skin of his neck.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “I’m sorry, really, I am. I didn’t mean to ever insult your wolfliehood and I swear to god, if you don’t kill me I’ll never do it again—”

Derek’s cold nose traced along his neck, collarbones, and then he snuffled deep. Stiles couldn’t tell if that was him preparing to go to town on his flesh or if the werewolf was just being an asshole and trying to freak him out. But then Derek made a whining noise at the back of his throat and swiped his tongue over Stiles’s cheek. Stiles yelped— Derek leaned back— and then eyes flashed from red to green.

Stiles didn’t expect the giant black wolf to go from animal to man in less than five seconds. But one moment, he was looking at Derek as a furry and the next, Derek was human again. Very human.

And very naked.

“Dude!” Stiles yelped, throwing a hand over his eyes. Derek made another noise at the back of his throat, a human hand touched Stiles’s arm, and then Derek’s voice filled the air. Croaky, raw, but definitely Derek.

He sounded broken. He sounded  _ shattered.  _ And it made Stiles’s heart twist.

“... Stiles?”

Yeah, this was definitely Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, guys, it's been a HOT minute since I updated this. I'm so sorry! also, this chapter was getting super long so I decided to break it down into two. I hope that's okay? I'm so determined to finish this fic, thank you guys so much for sticking around!


	4. The One With the Wolf (Pt2)

There was a man in his arms.

A very naked, very trembling man. Or… there was a Derek. A Derek, not his Derek. There was a Derek in Stiles’s arms and he didn’t really know what to do.

Ten seconds after going from an “I’m going to eat you” wolf to an “I’m going to snuggle you” human, Derek had curled up in Stiles’s open legs and proceeded to not move. He hadn’t said another word but he was shaking like a leaf. Stiles didn’t know what to do; so he just sat there. Just sat there, arms carefully wrapped around Derek’s shoulders, and tried not to think too hard about anything.

Sometimes he thought the man would mumble his name but Stiles couldn’t be sure. Every time he heard a creak on the stairs, he’d gaze up hopefully, but there was never anyone there.

Stiles didn’t know what they expected. He was still fuming that Scott had left him alone, even though Derek had decided not to eat him.

Because now he was alone. With a naked man in his arms and not a clue of what to do about it.

Suddenly, there _was_ a creak on the stairs. Stiles looked up sharply up again and he nearly melted in relief when he saw Isaac staring at him with wide eyes. The beta made a strangled noise at the back of his throat and then stumbled back out of sight again.

Stiles nearly shouted his name but he was terrified that would set Derek off. He still wasn’t sure if the man would snap and rip his throat out or not. Or break down even more. And that was the last thing he wanted.

But then Isaac came back into view with a large blanket and Stiles once more decided the beta deserved some serious hugs when Stiles got back to his own Beacon Hills. And he was going to punch Scott in the nose. Alternate universes or not.

“Holy crap, holy shit,” Isaac said, moving hurriedly over. The moment he got within five feet, though, Derek was sitting straight up and snarling. His face was half-shifted, his eyes were red, and he looked a lot hairier than Stiles ever remembered his normal beta shifts being.

Panic crashed over him as he realized Derek was turning wolfy again. He yelped and Derek’s eyes snapped back to his face, and Stiles very carefully took the man’s hand.

“Derek, dude, Sourwolf, don’t you dare shift on me again. You understand that? You stay nice and naked and Isaac is going to cover you in a blanket. Okay? Is that cool?”

The man studied his face. Behind him, Isaac moved slowly forward and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and Derek tensed a bit as he did so, but didn’t pull away. He just stayed focused on Stiles’s face and Stiles tried not to fidget at that, nervously wetting his lips.

"Okay, cool."

“Stiles,” Isaac said, drawing back again. “What the hell did you do?”

“Uh, asked him not to eat me?”

“... What?”

“I’m still not a hundred percent sure that he’s not going to,” Stiles said, glancing up. “So if you want to, oh, I don’t know, help me out a little, I'd be perfectly okay with that. And tell Scott that I’m coming for him. In a deadly way.

Derek growled a little again. Stiles quickly turned his gaze back to the man’s face.

“Isaac? You planning on helping out?”

“Just talk to him.”

Stiles blinked a few times and risked a quick glance up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Will you just talk to him?”

“And say what, hey, I’m not really your Stiles but please continue to not eat me? Because I’m not sticking around forever and if my Derek was ever caught dead naked in my arms, he might very well throw himself off the nearest cliff?”

Isaac’s face did a few strange things. But before he could say a word, Derek shifted away a little, brows drawing together. “Stiles?”

Stiles froze. Derek pulled the blanket further around his shoulders and slowly stood, nearly stumbling right back to the floor when he tried to take a step away. Stiles quickly rose to his feet too and held up his hands, but Derek shied away from them.

A knot formed in Stiles’s throat. “Derek—”

“Stiles.”

“Please tell me you know other words than that, big guy.”

The man blinked at him. Then he glanced over at Isaac and lowered his head. “Scott.”

Stiles didn’t know what the hell kind of conversation this was, but Isaac only nodded and disappeared from sight again. Grey-green snapped back to where Stiles stood and he raised his hands higher, hoping that was a good enough ‘please don’t rip out my throat’ gesture.

“You’re not Stiles,” Derek said.

“No, I’m not your Stiles, big guy."

“Why?”

“It’s a long story.”

Scott appeared on the stairs and Derek looked sharply away. The other man straightened as he saw them and his eyes flicked from Stiles, to Derek, and then back. Stiles crossed his arms and Scott turned pink, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he quickly approached. 

“Hey, Stiles.”

“I’m so pissed at you.”

_“Scott.”_

Scott went rigid and turned toward Derek. He looked vulnerable, suddenly, and Stiles had never seen that expression on his best friend’s face when looking at Derek. Scott tended to circle around the emotions of disbelief, confusion, and sometimes slight irritation when confronting the man. 

“Derek,” Scott said quietly. Derek stepped forward and traced a hand over the back of his neck, and Stiles blinked in confusion as Scott basically curled in on himself, letting out a quiet content noise.

Suddenly, Stiles felt like he was intruding on something. He stepped back and when Scott gave him a confused glance, offered his best smile before turning around and hurrying up the stairs.

He ignored Scott’s call at his back.

Because this— this was Beacon Hills. This was his pack. But this wasn’t _his_ pack. It wasn't _his_ Beacon Hills. This is what had happened after he was gone. After he’d died.

Derek and Scott got along. The pack lived in one giant happily ever after house together. There was no kanima, no Alphas, and nothing that they’d faced in the past. None of that mess. None of that pain.

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and came out onto the front porch, gazing over the preserve. The only memories he had of this place was the day Scott was bitten, the night Peter died, and the other dozens of supernatural threats that they’d chased out here ever since.

They’d been maybe ten miles from the house when fighting the witch. Stiles gazed in that direction and realized with a tug in his chest how much he missed _his_ pack. His, not this one. His, not the other ones he'd seen.

Lost in his thoughts, Stiles blinked as a car came into view. He stared for a moment and then it hit him like a punch to the gut as he realized it was _his_ car.

“Oh, hell no!”

Because out of it climbed Erica and Boyd. Stiles stood shock-still on the porch and the moment the two betas saw him, they froze too. For a moment, they just blinked at each other.

And then Stiles was being slammed against the nearest wall with a pair of claws at his neck.

“What the hell is this?” Erica snarled. “What the hell are you?”

“Shit— _Catwoman!”_

In a second, the claws were gone. Erica stumbled back with a shock expression on her face; Boyd caught her in his arms and pulled her close. The betas looked at him with blank faces for a moment and Stiles ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I’ve explained this one too many times for today.”

“It probably doesn’t help,” Isaac said, poking his face out the door. He didn’t even acknowledge Boyd and Erica other than a wave. “But your dad is coming too.”

“My _what?”_

“The Sheriff?”

“Goddammit, Isaac! How the hell am I supposed to explain this to my own father?”

“We’re having a pack dinner tonight,” Isaac said, looking wounded. “Since your here now and everything is okay again.”

The beta trailed off but a knot formed in Stiles’s throat. Because everything was not okay. Everything was the exact opposite of okay. He wasn't staying. This wasn’t his home.

The others realized that, right?

“Oh,” was all Stiles could say. “A pack dinner. Right.”

Isaac smiled and Stiles thought that was completely unfair. This wasn’t going to plan. He was supposed to figure a way home from this place, not be promising to stick around for the indefinite future. But Stiles couldn’t say no to a smile like that. So he just grinned back and nodded, trying not to think about how far things were going off track.

He just wanted to go home.

* * *

Stiles had been sitting on the balcony that overlooked the preserve for a couple of hours now. He knew the werewolves could easily sniff him out but none had come looking yet, so Stiles considered that a plus.

There was a part of him that whispered maybe this is what it would be like. Maybe this is what would’ve happened if he’d died. If he’d never been a part of the supernatural. If he hadn’t made it past Peter's death.

And Stiles didn’t want to admit that scared him. 

Because things were so different. But things were nice. Sure, yeah, Derek was a man walking around in wolf form, but that wasn’t Stiles’s fault. Right? And everything else was nice. Homely.

It was a pack. A real pack.

A footstep behind him made Stiles jerk back to reality. He turned to see a fully dressed Derek, but the man was still wrapped in a blanket. Tight enough that it looked like it was the only thing holding the man together right now and that hit Stiles like a punch to the gut.

He swallowed hard and turned away.

“Hey, Sourwolf.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles shifted nervously, arms wrapped around his knees. He didn’t really expect the man to sink down beside him but he supposed maybe he should have. Glancing over at Derek; with a fuller beard, no leather jacket, and jeans, he looked much different than the man who had sought comfort in Stiles’s arms. He didn’t know what to do with that realization.

“So… you’re feeling better, right? More human?”

“It’s been a few years,” Derek said, shrugging. Stiles startled and stared at him.

“A few years?”

Derek lowered his eyes. The change in his demor was painfully sudden and once more, the man was huddled in on himself again. Stiles risked touching his arm and the moment he did, Derek jerked back. Stiles quickly drew away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Derek said, cutting him off. “It’s just been a little while.”

“How long?”

Derek’s face tightened. Stiles instantly regretted his question, but the man still answered. Slowly. “Four years.”

“Dude!” Stiles said. “That’s not a little while!”

Derek flinched as if Stiles had punched him. Guilt crashed over him in a wave and Stiles quickly touched his arm again; more carefully this time. Derek didn’t pull away. Just leaned into Stiles’s hand with a soft noise at the back of his throat and Stiles's stomach twisted as he moved his hands up to cup the man’s chin, turning to face him.

“Why, Derek?’

“Why what.”

“Why… why the wolf? Why four years?”

“Because you died,” Derek said softly. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat.

“You cared that much?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s me,” Stiles mumbled. “Because that’s four years gone, Derek. I’m not worth that. I’m not worth four years of your life.”

Derek’s face did something sharp. He flinched but at the same time, his eyes blazed red. Stiles started to shy back but Derek caught his hands before he could pull away, holding them tight. “Don’t ever say that.”

“I don’t understand you,” Stiles said, trying to tug his hands aaway. “I swear to god, I don't understand this place.”

“What about it, Stiles. What about it is so wrong?”

“Everything!”

Derek finally let go and Stiles curled in on himself, pulling his hands into his chest. 

“I don’t get anything about the places I’ve been, Derek,” he said quietly. “And now I’m terrified you're going to say something and I’m terrified I’m starting to know what it means. But what if this is all a cruel joke? What if this is the witch messing with my head and then I’m going to get back and none of it’s going to be real and—”

“What’s not going to be real, Stiles?”

“This,” Stiles whispered. “You. Everything.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“What killed me, Derek?” Stiles said. “What turned you? What changed… everything? This isn’t Beacon Hills. In Beacon Hills, we have Jackson the snake, Lydia the screamer, and a Derek Hale who slams me into walls more often than he admits to tolerating me. This is all a fever dream. This is something the witch caused and now I’m stuck repeating the same thing over and over again in different ways. It’s the same thing, Derek. The same words and I can’t keep doing this!”

Derek stared at him for a long moment. Then his eyes dropped to Stiles’s chest. Lingering below his collarbones and above his heart. “It was a hunter. A hunter killed you.”

“What the hell did a hunter want with me?”

“He wanted to hurt me.”

“So why go after the token human? Why go after the one person you can’t stand?”

“Because you were my _mate,_ Stiles.”

Stiles’s jaw snapped shut. He stared at grey-green eyes and all words left him. Derek’s face was pale. His hands had caught Stiles’s again at some point and they were trembling. “What?”

“You were mine,” Derek said. “You were everything to me, Stiles. And the hunter took it all away—”

Stiles made a soft whimpering sound and Derek suddenly yanked back, his fingers having become claws. The man shoved himself up and started to scramble away but Stiles caught his arm before he could. Slowly, he rose to his feet too, raising a hand. “Derek, don’t.”

“I should go.”

“No,” Stiles said. “Please. You can’t keep going, Derek. You can’t keep leaving me.”

Derek’s face tightened. Stiles hated himself the moment the words left his mouth because he realized that if things happened as he expected and everything changed… Derek wouldn’t be the one leaving.

“You have to promise me something,” Stiles whispered. “Derek, I can’t stay. And you can’t abandon the pack again.”

The man blinked at him. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Derek, I need to get home. And I know how to get home and it’s not fair to you or the pack. But this isn’t my world. This isn’t my life.”

The man’s eyes cracked. Stiles reached up, gently cupping his chin.

“But you can’t go back to the basement. Okay?”

“Stiles—”

“You can’t. Please, Derek, you can’t.”

“... Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think the pack dinner is going to happen for me tonight,” Stiles said softly. He blinked hard, unsure why his eyes were burning. It wasn’t like it was his pack he was leaving. Well… it was. Just not a pack Stiles really knew. “Tell my dad I’m sorry.”

Derek didn’t answer. He just looked at Stiles like he was trying to drink up all he could before Stiles was gone again.

“And Derek, you make an adorable wolf,” Stiles said, forcing a chuckle. “I mean, terrifying, yes, but adorable all the same. Just don’t stay that way forever. Don't go back. Don’t do that to yourself or the pack.”

“I could make you stay, you know.”

“But you won’t.”

“I should.”

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Sure, Sourwolf.”

“It’s been four years, Stiles.”

Stiles ducked his head and nodded. He didn’t know what that would feel like; he imagined he’d be pretty broken if it was the other way around. But he still knew he couldn't stay. He didn’t know if there was even a chance of him getting home or if he had a time limit in this place. He was pretty sure he knew how to get from world to world but that… that broke him a little.

“Derek, I need you to tell me three words,” he said softly. “Can you do that?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Not that, asshole.”

“Bats aren’t weapons.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, the smile slipping from his lips just a little. Derek threaded his fingers through Stiles’s own and stepped closer.

“Please don’t go.”

“Derek, don’t do that to me. You can't.”

The man’s eyes flickered. He looked shattered.

_“I love you.”_

Stiles closed his eyes and felt the man press a soft kiss against his forehead. He expected the change in the air, he expected Derek’s hands to tighten on his own, but he didn’t expect the tear to slip down his cheek. Even though he knew this wasn’t his world; this wasn’t his Derek.

It still felt real. It still hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered. Derek’s hands slipped from his own.

“I know.”

“Tell my dad I'm sorry.”

“I will.”

When Stiles opened his eyes, all he saw was green. There was no more Derek, no more balcony, no more Hale house or preserve. Stiles knew he’d probably never know the outcome of his departure but it still hit him like a punch to the gut.

He could hope. And that’s all he could do.

Stiles closed his eyes again and felt his consciousness slipping away like Derek’s lips against his forehead. And it wasn't his world or his Derek, but it still hurt.

It hurt so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause I have a zillion ideas for what world that could come next... is there a certain one you guys want to see? Also, I'm sorry for the angst. It was very unplanned and it hurt me too.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, your comments and kudos mean the world to me. Hope you're all doing well and thanks for the constant support! Also, come hang with me on Tumblr or something, cause you're all amazing
> 
> [ https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com)


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